Dean Winchester sipped at his mug of coffee gingerly, trying to avoid yet again burning his tongue in his haste for that early morning caffeine hit. Outside his bay window, mist still hovered along the rolling fields, pooling in the springs and hollows. He watched it drift for several minutes, scanning for deer. A long, hot summer had baked the Kansas soil, and even though autumn was trying to creep in at night, he thought it was apt to get hot that day once the fog burned off.

When the coffee had cooled to a slightly less searing temperature and no wildlife made an appearance, Dean moved back toward the front of the house, into the living room. Rosy morning light bathed the floorboards and the dusty '67 Chevrolet Impala visible through its windows. The landscape was a study in shades of blush and dusky blue, muted through the haze. The previous week up in Glacier National Park had been a welcome break from the parched summer heat after sending his agent the final edits on his latest manuscript. Nothing put the daily grind in the rearview better than towering mountains and the scent of crisp, arctic pine. He'd barely written more than a few texts all week, supplementing his usual blog and social media posts with hurried snapshots uploaded to Instagram.

Dean sighed. He needed to get some new content up today, or Benny would be on his ass again.

"The book's only half the battle, Dean," Benny had told him more than once. "The other half's the platform."

From somewhere in the kitchen, he heard his cell phone start ringing, the wailing strains of "Smoke on the Water" looping until he finally got over to pick it up. He wasn't that surprised to see Benny's name on the screen. His literary agent was one of the few people he knew who seemed to sleep as little as he did. The pair of them were both night owls and early birds. Benny only seemed to remember that Kansas was an hour behind New York after 9 PM; Dean was used to calls at odd times of the day.

"Hey, Benny. Was just thinking of you." Dean walked back into the living room and stood at the front windows again, continuing his coffee infusion.

"Aw, how sweet," Benny drawled on the other end of the line, soft Louisiana accent unchanged despite his years up north. "Thought you'd forgot all about me up in Montana. Feeling refreshed, brother?"

"Hell yeah. Just what I needed to get my mind off the damn book for a bit." It would be a short respite, Dean knew. Once the publisher's editors got ahold of it, there'd be a whole second round of heavy lifting. Nevermind that Benny would expect him to start working up some next big thing… Another gulp of coffee brought only silence on the other end of the line, and Dean's brow furrowed. Benny wouldn't just call to ask about his vacation.

"So… what's the word?" he prompted.

"Well, I got a bit of bad news for you, Dean... Zach Adler at Elysium House has decided to pass on the manuscript."

Dean sighed and frowned. "Damn it…"

Elysium had published his last book, but the acquiring editor, Bobby Singer, had retired to South Dakota last year. Zach Adler, closest thing to his replacement, was someone Dean had felt reluctant about working with in the first place. He had a clear memory of Adler making a borderline disparaging comment about the need for queer representation in writing during a dinner gathering Bobby had dragged him to. Dean had told him not to be a dick.

There was a whistling sound as Benny pulled air through his teeth. "Yeah, not what I was hoping for after Salvation Ridge did well for them, but this new one was a hard sell for Adler. ...Not to worry though. I have a line in at Inferno Publishing. Going to get some face time tomorrow, but they seemed enthusiastic."

"Got a name?"

"Crowley MacLeod. Smooth-talking shark, if you ask me, but good at his job. If he takes the manuscript on, he'll do his damnedest to sell it hard. Inferno is up and coming in the romance and horror genres. Makes sense that they'd be trying to diversify."

Dean supposed wilderness survival fiction was close enough to that wheelhouse, and he trusted Benny to know where to pitch the book. "All right, keep me posted, Benny."

"Will do… And Dean?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Update Facebook. Update the blog. Yadda yadda…"

Benny let out a soft chuckle. "Half and half, brother."

After hanging up, Dean loitered in the living room for a bit. He put a reminder in his phone to shoot Bobby an email later, to see if the man was up for a visit before winter really set in. Outside, the layer of dust on Baby was looking less atmospheric and more like neglect as the sun rose higher. He really needed to give her a wash today and thoroughly remove the grime from their road trip. It hadn't mattered so much on the road, when the shining black surface would muddy up again as soon as he left the latest pitstop, but there was no way he was putting her away like that.

"First things first," Dean sighed after he'd drained his mug. He pulled away from the windows to go get a coffee refill and dig up his laptop.

It was platform time.

Turned out he was right about the weather that day. By the time he finished his obligatory posts and was through scrubbing Baby from top to bottom, the temperature and humidity had spiked up. The back of his shirt was soaked through with sweat and sticking to his back. He carefully parked the Impala in its carport and walked back to the house to change clothes. He didn't bother to shower. After swapping out into drier items, he laced up his hiking boots and grabbed his favorite black oilskin hat before exiting out the back door and into the fields.

There was a path worn in the dirt and kept widely mowed that led from the lawn around the house toward a grove of trees about halfway to the larger wooded area on his property. Dean followed it, sucking in the hot air and taking in the scents of dried grass and earth. There was at least a breeze that kicked up every few minutes, and each time, he raised his face to it and sighed quietly. The hum of insects and the occasional trill of a sparrow were the only signs of life besides his own footfalls at this time of day.

The property was almost one hundred acres. It stretched in a wavy line, southeast to northwest, just outside the outskirts of Kansas City. It would have been prime for development into urban sprawl, but the developers had left it alone for a time due to the terrain. The woods and hilly areas with springs and a creek would have taken some work to prep for housing. The acreage had sat long enough for Dean to snap it up with his savings and the proceeds from his first book. Now, it was registered in a federal conservation program that gave him a small but important payment each year, and the only thing sitting on it was the house that had been built there by the previous holder.

Dean had spruced the structure up a bit before he moved in—the owner had been older and hadn't been maintaining it as he should have—but for the most part, he hadn't changed a damn thing. Nothing made him more content than watching the deer grazing in the fields in the morning or hearing the ducks calling on the pond on the northern end of his land, and knowing that nobody would come and bulldoze it away.

He gratefully entered the shade of the first scattered trees that grew around one of the springs. This time of year, the bowl was just dried dirt, but when the rains came through in spring and fall, water welled up in shallow pools. There had been frogs and toads earlier in the year, but by now, they would have moved into the woods for shelter from the summer heat. Dean paused and leaned up against the trunk of one of the larger cottonwoods, squinting his eyes against the brilliant midday sun that lit the fields around him. The air hung heavy, but it was a bit more bearable under the tree boughs, so he took a short break to slow down his sweating.

Probably should have brought a canteen, he realized, belatedly. He was going to be pretty thirsty by the time he got back to the house.

When he felt as though he'd caught his breath, Dean moved back into the sun and followed the mown trail farther, wanting to see the woods at least. The second leg of his walk brought a lot more sweating, as the breeze seemed to die out for a spell. He was huffing a bit when he finally entered the next patches of shade, which seemed ridiculous given that he'd just spent a week hiking around at a much higher altitude. He blamed the humidity.

Last season's dried leaves crunched under his boots as he wove his way through the trees. The birds were quiet now; in the morning and evening, the air would have been alive with their calls. Only the chirring of crickets and the rustle of branches when the air moved could be heard. He wandered off the path for a while, not caring about the racket he made as he passed through brush. He wasn't hunting here. Still, he couldn't help but scan for spoor—the snapped and chewed vegetation that marked the passage of deer. There wouldn't be many prints in the summer-hard earth under the trees, but he did finally spot some skat among the old leaves. It looked fairly fresh, maybe a day or two.

Finding nothing else of interest or suspicion, he finally trudged back out into the open the way he had come. If he'd gone farther, there would have been a crosscut to the other side of the property, but Dean hadn't really been expecting to be out so long when he left the house. He just wanted to stretch his legs. Part of coming home was always adjusting to sitting still.

The afternoon was settling into that scorching, dead heat that meant it was time to grab a glass of iced tea and enjoy some shade. As he neared the house, his phone went off, making him flinch before fumbling it out of his back pocket. Seeing his brother's name, he immediately pressed green.

"Sammy. What's up?"

"Hey, Dean."

His younger brother sounded calm, and something in Dean relaxed. Even though the phone rarely brought bad news these days, there was still always that moment before the first words were spoken, when his world seemed to tilt precariously, ready to swing one way or another depending what came across the line.

Sam continued. "Are we still on for tonight?"

"Absolutely." The two brothers had made plans to meet up after Dean's return from Montana. "Meeting at your apartment?"

"Yeah, I should be home from work by 5:30 or so. Then we can decide where to do dinner."

Dean couldn't wait. Sam lived and worked in Topeka with the FBI as a forensic accounting specialist, and while Dean would never be able to abide city living, the one benefit he clearly understood was the sheer number of food options. Trips to visit Sam also meant being able to get something outside the norm a few times a month.

He tried to wind up the conversation quickly; no sense in using up all the small talk about his trip before they were face to face. That didn't stop Sam from getting in one good nag.

"Oh, and call Mom, would you?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "I will, bitch."

"Jerk," Sam said, then hung up abruptly before Dean could speak further.

Dean pulled a face at the phone screen before shoving it back into his pocket. He was almost home, and this time, he would definitely need a shower.

Dean took the F150 pickup to Topeka, driving west through open flats of grass and wheat with the occasional town laid out in grids along the highway. It was about an hour to the city from Olathe, but to him, it was an easy drive. Sam's reminder to call their mother came to mind as he looped around Lawrence. It wasn't that he had a reason not to... just never seemed to remember before the day was through. He shot north to the turnpike after that and flew through the landscape straight into Topeka. Sam lived in an apartment on the north side of the city, and Dean circled around the area a few times until he found a place he could park within walking distance.

He had arrived a bit early, so he texted Sam before going to the building entrance.

Just pulled in. You home?

It took a couple minutes before he saw any indication of a reply. The typing seemed to go on for far longer than the result warranted.

Yep

The air was still hanging on to the heat, and Dean felt the prickle of sweat starting again on his back as he made his way up to Sam's. He took the stairs to the second floor anyway, then rapped on the painted metal door.

There was the shuffle of movement on the other side before it swung open, revealing his younger brother's towering frame.

Dean wasn't short, but Sam had overshot him around age fifteen and kept going; Mom liked to joke that Sam stole all the tall genes. His brother must have changed out of work attire up top, which would have been a button-down shirt and tie, and into a slightly less formal button-down. The slacks and shoes still screamed "office worker". Sam's slightly olive complexion barely had a shadow on it; he kept it clean shaven. Even at the end of the day, he seemed put together and perfectly groomed. The only hint of rebellion outside the cleancut FBI image was his brown hair, which hung below his ears, curling slightly at the ends. Dean often teased him about getting a haircut, just for something to rib him about.

Dean was pale and freckled where Sam was unblemished and tan, had muddled brown hair that wavered between mousey blond and dark dun depending upon lighting and season while Sam's locks were steadfastly dark chestnut year round. Next to Sam, in denim jeans and scuffed boots, Dean felt like an unkempt farmer, even though he had shaved and showered that afternoon.

"Dean!" Sam grabbed him with one arm and clapped him on the back.

"Hey, Sammy. How's it going?" Dean pulled his face out of Sam's collar as he clamped a hand on his brother's shoulder, squeezing it once before stepping back.

They exchanged a bit of the usual chitchat—work that day, driving conditions, level of hunger—before bickering over restaurant choice on the way back to the car. Dean's head was turned by almost every greasy burger joint in the area, but Sam pushed him into Thai food.

"Come on, Dean. You can get a burger anywhere…"

The conversation paused and restarted in an easy flow as they got seated and ordered dinner. Dean asked about Sam's latest work projects, many of which his brother could only be purposely vague about. Sam listened to Dean's summary of Glacier National Park.

Hunting wasn't permitted there, and Dean hadn't bothered to explore options outside the park this time around. Instead, he'd satisfied himself with a lot of heavy hiking and a few scattered fishing sessions. He tried to describe the absolute majesty of the terrain, but he knew his verbal descriptions fell short of it. Even when he had hours to tune the perfect phrasing for a blog article, he never felt like he was really capturing nature, the whole of it. That was why he encouraged his readers to get out and visit for themselves.

"You oughta come on a trip with me sometime, Sam. We don't have to hunt or anything, just fresh air and open space."

Sam agreed and nodded, but they both knew the chances of the younger Winchester taking a good stretch of time away from work were slim to none.

It wasn't until the food platters were mostly empty and the brothers were each nursing a second beer that Dean caught the way Sam's lips would occasionally quirk and his eyes would dart to the table.

"What's on your mind, Sammy?" he asked finally, since his brother didn't seem to be able to find the right moment to bring up whatever he meant to.

Sam cleared his throat and nervously tapped his fingers along the edge of the table. "So, about a month ago, I heard they were looking to add to the forensic accounting team in Kansas City. I put in my name, even though I knew at least a few other people were already in the running from some of the other satellite offices. Just heard back Friday… I got the transfer, if I want it."

Dean was surprised Sam hadn't mentioned wanting to relocate. He always seemed… well, maybe not happy, in Topeka, but not discontent.

Dean grinned across the table. "Hey, that's great, man! Heading up to the regional office. When's the big move?"

Sam looked pleased, even though he tried to rein it in and turned his head away, waving a hand. "Well, they want me to start in a few weeks... Seems like it might be difficult to find a good place that quickly, so I think I might commute for a while, make sure it's all going to work out before I really get serious about changing cities."

"That's one hell of a commute." Dean grimaced. Topeka to Kansas City was over an hour by car... and Sam hadn't owned a car in years. It only took a moment for Dean to come to the logical conclusion. "If you aren't really attached to holding your apartment, why don't you give it up and stay at my place? A lot closer to the city, and instead of paying monthly rent here, you could start saving up for whatever comes next."

Sam seemed shocked. "What, really? Are you sure?"

"Sammy, are you kidding? Why wouldn't I put you up for a few months? Not like I'm some hermit…"

Sam gave Dean a look.

"Okay, whatever, but not like I can't live with my own brother. I did it for most of my life."

"If you're sure.." Sam was considering it now; Dean could tell.

"I'm sure, Sam. I mean it. You can use the pickup to commute. It might be nice to have some company around for a change."

That part was the truth. Winter would be setting in soon, and although Dean had a high tolerance for being alone, sometimes the gray cold silence of winter in Kansas could weigh even a wanderer like himself down.

"Thanks, Dean. I mean… this could be big for me."

"Damn right it could be. You could work anywhere in the country, Sam. Not a man out there who can out-account you."

Sam laughed and took a gulp of his beer to cover his embarrassment. He paused and gave Dean an appraising look.

"So, dare I ask… how's the book?"

Dean thought of that morning's conversation with Benny and kept his face confident. "Just turned in the final edits to Benny before I left. Now, just gotta wait for him to shop around for the best offers and make my required meet-and-greets with the publishing editors."

"That's great, Dean. I'm really glad this writing thing is working out for you."

Dean had to stop himself from twitching in annoyance. Before "this writing thing", it had been "this hunting thing" and "this gun thing"... While Sam had a career, Dean always seemed to have his latest thing. It probably was a fair assessment though. Sam had always been the one with the bright future. Dean was their mother's wayward son.

Feeling his emotions taking a downward turn, Dean consciously pushed the thoughts away and smiled at Sam, raising his beer glass.

"Hey… to things working out and the Winchesters moving up."

Sam raised his glass with a smile in return, and the brothers enjoyed the last of their drinks quietly.

On the drive home later, Dean watched the shadowed fields slide by, outlined in silver moonlight, felt the gravitational pull of Lawrence to the north and then behind him as he made his way home in the dark.